


throwing hands

by melanoleucus



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Does this qualify as hand kink? probably, Hand & Finger Kink, M/M, Post-Canon, Tender and thirsty, The overwhelming eroticism of pottery throwing, pottery, you know exactly where this is coming from
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29273898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanoleucus/pseuds/melanoleucus
Summary: David glances up at him, and the sly heat in his expression tells Patrick that yeah, he knows exactly what he’s doing. He presses his thumbs into the center, and the clay morphs into the beginnings of a bowl. Patrick can’t look away as David dips in with two fingers to – Jesus.__A few years into their marriage, David picks up a new hobby.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 24
Kudos: 166
Collections: Numerous OTPS Infinite Fandoms





	throwing hands

**Author's Note:**

> yes I did watch dan levy and phoebe bridgers being absolutely transcendent on snl, why do you ask

Patrick catches him just as he’s starting a new piece. David’s been learning how to throw pottery for a few months now, but he’s never brought anything home, and Patrick had been caught between wanting to give him space and an intense greedy desire to experience David in this new configuration. He hadn’t ended today’s vendor meeting early on purpose, but. 

He leans against the doorframe and waits for David to notice him, ready to follow his cue. When David finally looks up, there’s only a moment of hesitance before he waves off Patrick’s offer to wait in the car and waves him toward a chair. Patrick doesn’t bother tamping down the tenderness spilling out of his chest and onto his face. He understands that unique vulnerability of letting someone watch you create, and it will always, always be a thrill for David to grant him so much trust. 

The confidence as David prepares the pottery wheel is powerfully attractive. He clearly knows what he’s doing. Then he gets the wheel spinning, and Patrick is feeling decidedly less tender as David starts shaping the clay. He cups it with both hands, bringing them up and then back down a few times before flattening the clay into a squat cylinder. Patrick’s throat goes dry. 

David glances up at him, and the sly heat in his expression tells Patrick that yeah, he knows exactly what he’s doing. He presses his thumbs into the center, and the clay morphs into the beginnings of a bowl. Patrick can’t look away as David dips in with two fingers to – Jesus. 

Patrick sits back in the chair and drinks in the gloriously obscene picture in front of him, David’s hands steady and deliberate and _slow_ , bending reality to his will the same way he does with everything else. The clay yields to him with an inevitability that has no right being so goddamn sensual. He can’t believe it took him this long to witness this. He can’t help but imagine those beautiful talented hands on him, in him, the pressure of David’s fingers as he – yeah. He’s so mesmerized he doesn’t notice David finishing up until the sudden absence of the wheel’s whirring jolts him out of his reverie. 

Patrick stands up and steps toward him, desperate to touch and be touched, but David pins him in place with a single look. He doesn’t let them kiss until the studio is clean and he’s washed all traces of clay from his hands. 

They finally, finally meet, making space for each other with well-worn coordination. Patrick loops his arms around David’s waist, who brings up both hands to tilt his head back. Patrick opens up for him immediately, turning the kiss into something filthier than is really appropriate for the room they’re in. 

“Hey,” Patrick says. 

“The meeting went well, huh,” David teases. 

Patrick is too tightly wound to engage. “I need your hands all over me,” he murmurs into the air they’re sharing. David’s breath hitches. 

Patrick turns his head so he can press his lips into David’s palm. His hands still smell like clay, fresh and earthy and clean. Patrick takes in a deep breath through his nose, and David lets out a little sigh in response. David shifts to press his fingertips against Patrick’s lips, then trails five searing lines down his torso. He stops at Patrick’s waist, playing with the belt buckle while his thumb rubs back and forth just below his bellybutton. 

Patrick sways into him, helpless, pliant like the clay had been, ready for David to mold into whatever shape he sees fit. 

David presses his forehead against Patrick’s for a long, excruciating moment, before pulling back and grinning at the dumb expression Patrick must be making. 

“I need to say goodbye to Loretta,” he whispers, “be good for me and go wait in the car.” 

Before Patrick can lose his entire goddamn mind over _that_ , David smacks his ass and walks out of the room with a wink. 

__

“No, Patrick, we are _not_ watching Ghost tonight.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
